


in my nature, in my blood

by escherzo



Series: T4TMA 2021 [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (this is a bit on the rougher side of CNC physically), Consensual Non-Consent, F/M, Not Particularly Safe or Sane, Predator/Prey, Roommates, Tearing clothes, Trans Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Vaginal Sex, brief mention of breeding, minor injuries (scratching), minor/partial Hunt transformation, s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo
Summary: “No,” Jon says, tasting the word. Trying out how it feels. He finds that he likes it. Daisy is across the room from him, on the opposite side of the couch, coiled tight and ready to strike, and his heart thunders with fear and adrenaline, an almost pleasurable terror. She will not push him further than he can be pushed; he will not let her give into the hunt beyond this little taste to keep her strength up.(T4TMA Day 5: Negotiation/Consent)
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Series: T4TMA 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090997
Comments: 11
Kudos: 86
Collections: t4tma week 2021





	in my nature, in my blood

**Author's Note:**

> in which Jon trusts Daisy, and is afraid of Daisy, and wants Daisy to wreck him, and so he gets her to chase him around their flat and then take him. Assume more elaborate negotiation of this has been discussed prior. words used for Daisy: cock/breasts, no specific words used for Jon. mind the tags.

Daisy sleeps with her teeth to Jon’s throat.

They’re blunt, human, and she snores softly against his neck, her hair pooling out on the pillow all around her. Jon is never going to forgive her, but he finds, as the days wind on, the two of them sharing his old, cramped flat, weak and starving and trying to cling to each other to fight the hunger, that he understands her. Trusts her. She could wake with the hunt overtaking her and tear out his throat, but he knows that she will not, and so he stays, small and cradled in the circle of her arms and listens to the soft, slow sounds of sleep, the press of her teeth a constant reminder of what she is. Of what they both are.

*

“No,” Jon says, tasting the word. Trying out how it feels. He finds that he likes it. Daisy is across the room from him, on the opposite side of the couch, coiled tight and ready to strike, and his heart thunders with fear and adrenaline, an almost pleasurable terror. She will not push him further than he can be pushed; he will not let her give into the hunt beyond this little taste to keep her strength up. 

He wants to be pinned by her. Wants to cry and fight and kick and tell her _no_ , to feel the way his heart pounds as she overpowers him anyway and leaves him helpless, trembling prey in her hands. Wants to feel her cock sink inside him and claim him, wants the barest suggestion of the wolf. The way her body would grow, the growl in her throat as she would pin him and makes him take it. 

Her eyes are bright and fierce, glinting yellow, the pupils narrowed to slits, and when she smiles at him, her teeth are longer. Sharper. 

“Yeah,” she says, advancing on him, and he takes a step back reflexively. She’s so much taller than him. His eyes dart around the room, looking for escape routes. Ways to sidestep her. He just has to get to the bedroom, and then there is a door that has a lock, and--

She lunges, and he yelps without meaning to and dodges out of the way, barely missing being grasped by her hands. Her nails are lengthening to claws. She circles him, slow and deliberate, and he steps backwards in time with her. “Daisy, _no_ ,” he says, more plaintive, and underneath the overwhelming arousal that is starting to pound in him, curling hot and sweet in his belly, there is real fear. She sniffs the air. Licks her lips like she can taste it, and her smile widens further. 

“Going to get you,” she growls, her voice a low, joyous predator’s rumble, and this time, he mis-times his dodge, and she has hold of his shirt. He pulls away with all of his strength, the buttons popping, the fabric shredding, and he’s free, standing at the doorway to the kitchen with his shirt in tatters, his chest exposed, a faint line of red across his shoulder that lets out two slow, oozing droplets of blood before the wound closes back up. He takes a heaving breath, steadying himself, watching as her careful eyes track his every movement.

“Daisy, you don’t have to do this,” Jon says, his voice wavering, and it feels so good to say it, the heat in him almost painful as the words tumble from his lips. “Please, _no_.” 

“ _Run_ ,” she says instead, and he runs. There is so little room in the flat--he dodges her as best as she can, and she gets the rest of his shirt as he runs past, towards the hallway to the bedroom, his top half exposed, his chest heaving with the effort of his escape. Down to the bedroom. His feet pound against the linoleum, and he nearly slips, nearly falls to the ground right there at the entrance, but his bed is in sight and he pulls himself together at the last moment and makes it there. He doesn’t have a chance to close the door behind him. She’s faster. Makes it to the doorway just as he has reached his bed, and he leaps over it, standing with the mattress in between the two of them. She licks her lips again. He’s cornered now. He has to get out of here, has to figure out a way past her, and the only thing he can think to do is let himself go limp for a moment, like he’s surrendering and wait for her to strike. 

She hits the mattress and he summons all his strength to push himself up and over the bed in one moment, and then, with a skittering, off-balance lurch, starts to run down the hallway in the opposite direction. He can hear, from behind him, her frustrated growl as her body collides with the space he no longer is in, and her feet pound against the ground after him so much faster than he can run. This time, it’s his trousers she catches, tearing a long strip out of them with her claws, and he forces himself to keep pushing even as he feels the hem at his waistband split. 

He runs forward with as much speed as he can, rounding the corner and trying to make a break for the tiny spot behind the couch that only he can crawl into, his heart pounding, his breath coming in great, wheezing heaves, and his lungs ache with the exertion. Somehow, somehow he makes it. Dives underneath and crawls into the small, dark space, tucking his legs up to his chest and trying to get his breath back with a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. He can hear her moving around the living room, hear the click of claws on bare floor, and she pauses for a moment. Sniffing the air audibly. 

“I know you’re here, Sims,” she says, and her voice is all growl now. The seconds feel like they tick on like years, and Jon’s heart is pounding so hard he can barely think past it. Once she’s distracted, he needs to run for the door again. Maybe he could get back to his bedroom and get the door closed behind him this time. Maybe he could tuck himself behind the shower and hope the old, rickety lock in the bathroom holds. He could--

He dares to let himself peek around the corner, and his eyes meet Daisy’s. He freezes. Somewhere along the way she has lost her clothes, and she is crouched on hands and knees on the floor, faint fur curling around her ears and down her front. Her eyes are so very bright and wide as she stares him down. When she smiles again, her mouth is all dripping fangs. 

“ _Got you_ ,” she says, sounding deeply satisfied, and grabs him with both hands to drag him out from behind the couch. The tatters of his clothes are left behind, the leg of his trousers snagging on one of the nails at the back of the couch and tearing off the rest of the way all at once, and she pulls him up to his feet, naked before her, like he weighs nothing at all.

Her breath is heaving, too, but she presses him down to the couch and pins him like he weighs nothing. Fits her sharp teeth to the back of his throat, grazing just enough for the suggestion of violence, and he stills, shuddering, going limp underneath her. Her thighs bracket his body, and he _tries_ , pushes up against her, tries to squirm out from underneath with the last scraps of exertion he has in him, his legs kicking out. She pins his hands to his sides and holds him like he weighs nothing.

“Daisy, please,” he begs, eyes closing, his voice barely loud enough to be audible over the thundering of his heart and the low growl coming from her. “Please don’t.” She’s hard against him, rutting against the scarred skin of his back, a pleased, satisfied groan rumbling out of her chest as the first tears begin to bead in his eyes. He’s caught. He is her prey, and she does not intend to let him go.

Daisy’s claws dig into his wrists, her long tongue and wickedly sharp teeth marking his fragile skin, as she rubs against him, taking in the smell of his fear. Scrapes of teeth and dark bruises, not enough for permanent injury, but enough to _hurt_. To remind him that she is the one with power here, that she is _dangerous_ , that she could take him apart in an instant and that she will take what she wants from him. She is so much bigger than him. He has never been more aware of that than in this moment.

He presses his legs together, aware at once how slick and aching he is, so much it is nearly a physical pain. On some level he is aware that he’s speaking--babbling, little pleas of _don’t_ and _let me go_ and _it hurts_ , but he can’t hold onto the words. She lets one wrist go to force his head down, a clawed hand at the back of his neck to shove his face against the couch. It startles the air out of him, and he shivers; he is so exposed, head down and arse up, and she ruts hard against him, her cock sliding against the curve of his arse.

“Good slut,” she says, approving, and his face flames as she sinks two fingers into the slick mess between his legs, the sudden penetration a painful shock that makes him cry out even as he presses back into it. 

“I don’t _want_ it,” he chokes, knowing what’s coming, and she has him pinned, but he has to try to squirm away, has to try and fight it, can’t let her _do_ this, and so he tries to twist away, tries to kick at her even though he has almost no range of motion in this position, and all it does is make her growl harder. He tries to make it hurt, at least. Her hand tightens on his neck, her claws digging in, and her teeth drag down his spine, leaving long red marks in her wake. She’s going to fuck him. He knows that like he knows that he will not be able to escape out from under her unless she wants him to, and she does not want him to. She wants to _claim_ him. Possess him. He is her prey and she wants to shake him by the teeth until he has fully gone limp and submitted. 

Her fingers twist inside him, and fear and arousal curl together until he can no longer distinguish them. Her cock, pressed up against the back of his thigh, is so hard, and it feels so big like this. Maybe bigger in this form. He doesn’t know how he’s going to take it, but he doesn’t have a choice.

“ _Mine_ ,” Daisy growls, and all at once draws her fingers out and sinks into him, slow and inexorable, a great weight that makes him cry out as he is filled, and he tries to squirm away, tries to fight it, but she holds him steady and makes him take it, inch by aching inch. She leans down and laps at the sweat beading on his back, sunk as deep as she can go and not moving, just forcing him to feel it all, and the tears beading at the corners of his eyes start to flow freely. It’s so much. It’s _so_ much. He loves it.

“Daisy,” Jon says, his voice a shaking wreck. “Daisy, please.” 

He can feel her teeth against his skin. Feel the way she smiles, her claws dragging down to grip his hips as she begins to thrust, fast and brutal, sinking deep over and over, and his arms are free, but all he can do is try ineffectually to push her away and squirm and take it as she fucks him, crying out with every thrust. His whole body is shaking. She’s going to keep him here until she’s done, he knows, battering his small, bruised body until she has taken her fill, going to _breed_ him, and it’s that last thought that makes him come, gasping for air as it shudders through him and he clenches around her painfully tight. 

She _howls_ , something deep and primal and satisfied, and sinks deep inside him one last time as she starts to come, filling him up, breeding him, marking him from the inside, and he can feel the way her claws at his hips break skin as she does, leaving his skin bloody. He squirms, oversensitized and delirious with the thought of it, his mind a pleasure-pain haze, and she keeps him there for a long moment, after. Keeping her warm. 

“Daisy,” he says, when he can speak again, and his voice is softer even as he puts all of his will and power into it. “ _Tell me where you are_.” 

“Our flat,” Daisy says, and her words are still half a growl, but when he looks down he can see the way the claws recede back into her hands. “In our flat. I…” She blows out a long, satisfied breath, and pulls out of Jon slowly, careful not to touch the wounds at his hips that are already starting to close up. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Jon says, collapsing more heavily onto the couch, all of the adrenaline draining out of him at once until all he can feel is _limp_. “Did it help?”

Daisy thinks about that one for a moment. “Sure. Much as a stale statement would, at least. Keeps me alive.” It’s not said unkindly, but he understands all too well the hollowness in the words, the ever-present fight against the need for _more_. To take, and take, until they’re gorged on fear. “Felt good, though.” 

Jon closes his eyes and sighs, stretching out a little on the couch to feel the ache in his muscles; his eyes feel so heavy. He’s a _mess_ , but surely he could just take a moment and--

“Oh no. Up you get. Made me promise I’d get you into the shower after, remember?” 

“... Right,” Jon says, and she hoists him up into her arms like it’s nothing. They don’t shower together, after things like this; it’s not big enough for the two of them, not without sending Daisy anxious with how confined the space is, but she waits in the bathroom until he’s done, perched on the counter. Keeping an eye on things.

He can’t help but smile at the glint in her eye as he gets out of the shower. At the bruises all over his body, already starting to fade, but still present. Still proof of what they’ve done. There will be a next time; that, he’s already sure of. 

“Looks good,” she says, and he can’t help but agree.


End file.
